


Mine

by spunknbite



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Credence Barebone Needs a Hug, Daddy Kink, Dubious Consent, Grindel!Graves isn't a nice dude, Kink Meme, M/M, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-02 23:26:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8687731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spunknbite/pseuds/spunknbite
Summary: An old, favorite game, played between him and countless partners. Partners past were in on the game, knew it was game. This boy though - an oblivious little squib starved for praise, love, any sort of parental affection - this was decidedly real.





	

It’s well past midnight when he finds Credence. Hunched more than usual, the boy stands under a small awning in a dimly lit street not far from the church his mother ministers over. Dark eyes alert, careful not to be seen by any of his mother’s faithful - after all, what proper business could a young, pious boy such as him have on the street at this hour - Credence spots him as he Apparates across the street.

The boy lurches forward instinctively, but stops himself from crossing into the light of a near street lamp, instead waiting with a noticeable tremor as Graves - Mister Graves to him - walks briskly towards him. The cool autumn air is turning rapidly to winter, and as Graves approaches, he’s unsure whether the boy’s tremor is due to temperature or trepidation.

“Mister Graves, if Ma finds out -”

Of course, the mother. The boy’s primary concern at most times was his mother, her judgements, and most of all, her punishments. It was tiring, and certainly a hinderance to his finding the child. “Hush. Come with me.” Graves steers Credence further down the street, away from the church, and then down a dark back alley littered with dumpsters. Credence stumbles over a stray can, unseen in the darkness, and knocks hard into Graves’ side.

“Sorry, sir, I didn’t mean -”

“Alright, my boy?” Credence nods and opens his mouth to apologize again, but is quieted by Graves, “Hush.” 

They stop far from the street, obscured in the surrounding darkness. Credence’s tremor has increased. “Ma, she sometimes does bed checks in the night. If I’m caught -”

“You’re safe, dear boy. Calm yourself.” Graves brushes Credence’s askew bangs back, letting his hand linger, allowing the boy the luxury of his warm palm against his cold brow. “I would not have insisted at this hour, but it is urgent. I am certain that the child from my vision must have been at your church sometime today. Recent events in the neighbourhood...never matter, it’s not of importance to you. What I do know for certain is that the child was there today.” Find the child and set the world right. The squib boy was a tool to be used, and these dalliances, these plays at affection, a mere means to the boy’s devotion. He had become very tiresome.

“We served a community lunch this afternoon. There were dozens of children there. Mister Graves, if I could know anything else about the child, I might -”

“I have no more details to give.” Graves pulls the boy closer, cupping his face with one hand and forcing eye contact that Credence struggles to keep, “But I know you’ll be able to do this for me. Won’t you, son?” 

A staccato inhale and “Yes, Mister Graves, I’m trying my best.”

“There’s a good boy. Be mindful of the children in attendance today and I’m sure our next meeting will be fruitful.” Credence leans in for another touch, desperate and pathetic for Graves’ warmth to soothe his ever-present cold, but enough has been given tonight. Graves abruptly turns, preparing to Disapparate - 

“Please, Mister Graves. Ma, if she catches me returning, it will be so bad.” Credence pushes himself against the brick of the alley. He closes his eyes and whispers, barely audible,“Can’t you magic me home?” The boy retreats further against the wall, bracing himself for an expected blow born from years of denied and punished requests. This much Graves can read on the boy’s face, the practiced flinches that reflect years of pained muscle memory.

“You concern yourself far too much with your mother. She is so very beneath you, Credence.” He advances on the boy’s position on the brick and watches as Credence’s eyes dilate as he presses his small frame against the wall, trapping the boy tightly between the rough brick and his body. The boy is still obviously terrified of what blow may come, but is equally needy for any sort of contact.

Well. It’s been so long. So long since a young, small thing like this desperate boy looked up at him with wide eyes, full lips and a wanton need for affirmation of any kind. He feels a strong wave of arousal at the sheer amount of power he wields over this boy; he feels an ache he hasn't felt properly in years. 

Credence’s tremor has returned and it’s now full bodied. Graves strokes his hip reassuringly, the jutting bone sharp through the cheap fabric of his trousers. “You need someone else to look up to, someone else’s judgements to serve, don’t you?” The boy’s face is flushed and the pink spreads down his neck, under his poorly buttoned collar. This is promising.

“I’m doing my best to serve you, Mister Graves.”

“No, you’re concerned wholly with you mother, Credence. Would you try harder if I was your father? Would you have found this child already if it was your father asking it of you?” 

There are tears in the corners of the poor boy’s eyes. He’s searching for the right answer, the one that will cease this confusing line of questioning, the one that will inspire Graves to touch him kindly, however briefly. “No, sir. I’m trying my best -” His words are cut off by his own guttural sob, as Graves pushes him more firmly against the brick, the larger man’s hips pushing flush against Credence’s. Graves feels the unmistakable pressure of an erection against his own, and the tears in the corners of Credence’s eyes finally fall.

Not so surprising; the boy has always looked at him with a desperation and hunger that Graves has long suspected was not entirely chaste.

“I’m sorry, so s-s-sorry.” Is he apologizing for his arousal or his continued failure to secure the child? Graves isn’t sure. Credence is frantically trying to reposition his hips, to hide his shame as best he can, but the solid weight of Graves’ body prevents him from moving far. The boy’s erection stays firm against Graves.

“Dear boy, hush.” His lips ghost over Credence’s cheekbone and the boy’s hips give an involuntary buck into Graves’, causing Credence to gasp and the tears to fall harder.

“You’re such a good boy, Credence. Such a devoted, special boy. You deserve so much more than you have, so much more than your mother and her church can give you. You need a father to guide you properly. Only I can give you what you truly need.’’ The boy, still struggling slightly, looks shyly up at him behind wet lashes. He’s pretty when he cries, Graves decides. It’s a pity that fear and pain can inspire only so much; devotion is far more effective. Graves strokes his boy’s cheek, rubbing small circles with his thumb until Credence’s struggling lessens and eventually ceases altogether; his desperate gulps for air even and slow. “There we are. I know what you need. You need to be loved properly, treated properly. Told how very important and special you are. Because you are so precious, Credence.”

At these words, the boy’s hips thrust upwards again, and Graves indulges him and rocks back against him, slowly, so slowly, and he can feel the weight of the boy’s arousal rubbing against his. Credence keens, his lips luridly pouting as he presses his hips upwards, desperate for more contact. The once pink flush on his cheeks is now a brilliant crimson, and as Graves rocks against him, the boy’s head taps the brick behind him with each thrust, his eyes wide and bloodshot. 

What a little whore. Altar boy to harlot within minutes. “Mister Graves, Mister Graves, Mister Graves.” A prayer panted in time with the rocking of their hips. “Mister Graves, I’ve never - I’ve never.”

“You’re mine, Credence. No one else’s - just mine.” Still holding him tight to the wall, he stops rocking, and the boy whines and tries to thrust against him. “This,” palming the arousal in Credence’s trousers, “is mine.” Credence’s cock is pulsating in his hand, veins apparent through the thin fabric and a splotch of wetness seeps through. Another throaty sob and Credence is bucking upwards, but Graves removes his hand. He takes Credence’s face in his hands.

“Who do you belong to?”

“You, Mister Graves. Please. Please.”

“You’re so good, dear boy. Because you’re mine, all mine, you’ll do as you're asked, right?”

“Yes. Always. Please. Please.”

“You’ll call me Daddy, won’t you, Credence? You’ll call me Daddy because you’re such a good boy and you’re all mine? A good boy like you needs a father.”

Credence’s hips bounce up at each mention of praise. He is clearly overwhelmed, on edge and frantic for release - a release, Graves considers, may be the poor, repressed boy’s first. 

“Y-Yes, D-Daddy. Please. I need - I need -” The boy has no idea what he’s asking for, just begging for contact from the nearest kind touch.

“There’s my good boy. I know what you need.” He unbuckles Credence’s belt, and for a brief moment, a wisp of fear hardens the boy’s face. “Daddy will never hurt you,” he whispers, kissing his temple. Credence looks up at him, panting shamelessly.

An old, favorite game, played between him and countless partners. Be Daddy’s good boy; Daddy will spank you if you continue like that; suck Daddy’s cock to show him you love him; bend over for Daddy. Partners past were in on the game, knew it was game. This boy though - an oblivious little squib starved for praise, love, any sort of parental affection - this was decidedly real. 

Graves pushes down Credence’s trousers and it’s then that he realizes how cold the boy must be, with the air frigid and channeled in the alley. No use in the boy freezing before he’s finished with him, so he divests himself of his coat and wraps it about the boy’s shoulders. Credence’s thin frame is swallowed by it, and he nestles inside its warmth, inhaling the scents of Graves’ aftershave and cigarettes. Graves watches this with some amusement; finer fabric has never touched the sorry boy’s frame before.

“What do you say?”

“Thank you, Mis - Daddy.”

Graves pulls down the boy’s thin underwear, revealing a slender cock slick with precum, thick white strands of it drooling down his length, a pool of it at the tip. The crimson flush of his face covers the rest of his body, the head of his cock almost purple, standing quite flat against his abdomen.

“Such a pretty boy, Credence. You’re making your Daddy very happy.” His voice is deep as he surveys his prized squib, squeezing himself hard through his pants to try and calm himself. “Let me see those beautiful hands of yours.”

Kissing Credence’s digits, Graves swirls his tongue around two fingers before taking them into his mouth. The boy lets out a small gasp and jerks his hips into the air. Graves guides Credence’s slick fingers to the boy’s weeping cock and wraps them around the base, covering Credence’s hand with his and squeezing firmly. The boy thrusts up, but Graves holds their hands quite still.

“You’ve never touched yourself here, have you, son?”

“N-No.” The boy is hiding his face with his free hand, short, rapid breaths creating clouds in the cool, night air.

“And you’ve certainly never touched yourself here?” Graves moves Credence’s digits lower, behind his balls, drawn tight to his body, to the puckered opening. The boy’s breath hitches and he whimpers as Graves presses Credence’s index finger against the hole, firm enough to breach, but only just.

“No. No. It’s sinful. I’ve never -”

Graves cradles the boy’s head against his shoulder, feels his staccato breath on his neck as he guides Credence’s own finger further inside, past the first knuckle. “You’ll listen to your father now, won’t you boy, about these things? Not your mother. Your father says we’re above this sin.”

Credence is hesitant and doesn’t answer immediately, his breath still harsh and his erection unflagging. Precum continues to drip from the tip in lurid streams.

“You’re such a beautiful boy, Credence. So beautiful. You need to be taken care of. This is how I take care of you. Don’t you want that, dear boy?”

It’s these words that do it. Graves smiles as Credence digs his face deeper into the crook of Graves’ shoulder with a muffled, “Yes, please. Please D-Daddy.”

“That’s my boy, all mine.” Graves pushes Credence’s finger in further, well past the second knuckle until he’s fully inside. “Now pull it out, not fully, mind you, then push it back in.” A beat, Credence cries out softly. “There’s a good boy. Again.” The boy is drooling slightly on his shoulder, mouth open and debauched as Graves has him increase the tempo. Graves files this image away for another night; he has a mouth meant for a hard fucking.

Graves’ hand joins Credence’s and he presses the boy’s middle finger against the slightly stretched hole. “It’s too much. I can’t.”

“Hush. I know what’s best for you.” Graves slips Credence’s second finger inside and guides the two in and out smoothly. “You’re doing so well. You're my good boy, getting yourself ready for me like this.”

Credence is silent save for the occasional cry as he thrusts his fingers in. Face blotchy with arousal, embarrassment and cold, he curls into Graves’ solid body, seeking further solace.

“You’re so good at this, Credence. Suck my finger, get it nice and wet for you.” Graves pops his index finger in Credence’s wanton mouth, past those fuckable, chapped lips and is met with sloppy, desperate slurping. Credence’s wide eyes meet Graves’, greedy for approval. “That’s it.”

The boy doesn’t question him this time, as Graves presses his own, now slick finger, against his opening. Instead he breathes heavily, whimpering as Graves pushes in with some difficulty, sliding in next to Credence’s two, slimmer and shorter fingers. 

Fuck the boy is virginal tight. Clenched around him, hot and pulsing, the soft channels of his insides pressing firmly against his finger. Graves swears under his breath and holds Credence tightly by the back of the neck.

Graves manipulates his finger upwards, searching, searching until, “Ahhhhh,” Credence cries out, breaking the silence of the night. His exposed cock, still leaking copiously, bobs against his taut stomach. “W-What is...please.” He’s slack against Graves, gasping and shaking, his tremor renewed.

“Feel good, son? You’d like more of that?” He nods feverishly, and Graves guides Credence’s own fingers, still tight inside himself, to the hard nub. “Rub right here; that’s a good boy.” Credence bucks and cries out again. “This is how a good boy like you pleases his Daddy. Keep going.” Graves retracts his finger and sets a quick tempo, guiding Credence’s fingers in and out, angled so that with each thrust, the boy sobs as pleasure he’s never felt washes over him.

Credence’s legs buckle, but Graves supports him against the wall. He’s moaning almost constantly now, overstimulated and hyper sensitive as his fingers work in and out of his hole. “Daddy. Daddy. Daddy.” A repeated litany as his breath grows more ragged. “I’m - I - don’t - know - please.” Broken words; the boy begs for some unknown absolution.

Graves takes pity on the boy. He leans down, pressing his lips against the shell of the boy’s ear, red as the rest of him, and whispers, “That’s it. Let go. Do this for me, son.”

Credence bucks his hips wildly and a broken sob shakes his body, as thick streams of pearly cum spurt from his untouched cock, painting his torso. Graves watches as the boy, thoroughly debauched and needy, throws his head back into the brick, crying out loudly enough to wake sleeping neighbours as the last waves of his orgasm crest. He’s trembling and boneless, slumped against the wall, and he retreats into Graves’ coat, which has a thin trickle of cum running down the inside lapel. His fingers are still inside himself, awaiting permission to remove them.

“Beautiful boy,” Graves whispers, kissing the side of Credence’s neck. 

“I’ve never -” He can’t finish, his eyes half closed, mouth slack as he tries to catch his breath; the boy’s a world away.

“What a good boy. You’ve got yourself nice and open for me, haven’t you?” He guides the boy’s fingers out, and replaces them with three of his own, scissoring and thrusting slightly. Credence half whimpers, still coming down from a high.

He’d like to wrap his fingers around the boy’s now soft cock and stroke him to a second painful, oversensitive hardness, get the boy on edge, so ready to cum again, but deny him the pleasure, stop just before the fall - tell him that sons shouldn’t get greedy with their father’s affections. But such games will have to be postponed for another evening. He can’t wait any longer. Graves pulls himself out from his trousers. Fuck, he’s painfully hard and already dripping from the slit; the boy’s little show is the best he’s seen in years. He lifts the boy easily; his slight frame limp like a doll’s, and manipulates him so that the boy’s back is pressed against the brick of the alley, his bare legs are wrapped around Graves’ waist. A quick lubrication charm and - 

“Daddy!” The boy calls out as Graves pushes in smoothly to the hilt in one fluid motion. His slack, lax frame stiffens and Credence curls around him, fingers scrambling for a tighter hold about his neck, shoed feet digging into the small of Graves’ back.

There’s no work up, no easing into it. Graves ruts in and out hard, cock pulling out almost completely before slamming forcefully back in. The little whore is the tightest he’s felt; his cock squeezed on all sides as he pushes in again and again and again.

The boy is sobbing now, hot tears running down his cheeks, his wet face buried into Graves’ neck. “Daddy. Daddy. Daddy.” There's no fight in him though; if anything the boy meets his thrusts weakly. Graves catches the boy’s red eyes, starving for approval, desperate for some positive acknowledgment.

Graves awards him this. “You’re doing so well, Credence,” he says softly, in that paternal, kind tone the boy so craves, while thrusting hard enough into him that the boy’s head hits the brick. “Such a good boy.” Credence whimpers, still crying, snot running from his nose. He continues to try and meet Graves’ increasingly erratic rhythm. 

Lasting much longer isn’t an option, Graves knows. He can feel his climax approaching imminently. He pins the boy firmly against the wall and pistons his hips repeatedly, causing the boy’s cries to grow louder and louder, Credence’s flaccid cock hitting the mess he previously made on his stomach. He’s vaguely aware of footsteps coming from the street, but it’s no matter; he’s so close.

“Daddy! Please!” Is the boy begging him to stop or continue? Graves has no idea and doesn’t particularly care, but the desperation in the boy’s voice pushes him over the edge.

He fucks him through his orgasm, growling “Mine. All mine.”

The boy’s eyes look glassy as Graves finally pulls out. Graves takes the boy’s trembling hand and guides it to his stretched, wet opening, cum dripping from the hole down his thighs. “You feel that? You’re mine, Credence. Not your mother’s, not her church’s, not anyone else’s, just mine.”

“Yes, Daddy.” And Credence smiles, the first Graves has ever seen.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Fantastic Beasts Kink Meme.
> 
> Come join the depravity here: http://fantasticbeasts-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org


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